


please don't say you love me

by picritic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Anime Spoilers, Aromantic Sugawara Koushi, Bittersweet, Internalized Arophobia, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Sorry Not Sorry, no beta i live life on the edge, no they don't end up together in the end, tagged only characters with speaking parts, the whole of team karasuno is in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27874362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picritic/pseuds/picritic
Summary: Daichi doesn’t say anything at first. He watches his face, eyeing the way Suga’s eyes shine. “I heard some things,” he admits finally. They’re less than a block from Suga’s house now, and Suga resists the urge to break away and run for the door. “From Michimiya-san. She said that Chika-san told you she loved you. And that you said it back.”>> I’m sorry, but I… I don’t believe you, Koushi.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Michimiya Yui/Sawamura Daichi, Sawamura Daichi & Sugawara Koushi, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, mentioned Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	please don't say you love me

He breeze tugs playfully at Suga’s hair as he leans out of one of the windows of the third floor, but he pays it no mind, staring pensively at the pavement below. If one looked closely enough, they might be able to see the subtle tracks of tears carved across his cheeks, but he wiped the moisture from them long ago. 

“Suga, you okay?” 

Suga glances over his shoulder, eyes landing on a broad figure with dark eyes and darker hair. He stands just behind Suga’s right shoulder, his arms crossed in warning. “Daichi,” Suga says, the name itself a greeting. He arranges his lips into a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s been a long day, that’s all. Ready to get into the gym instead of here.”

Daichi frowns, the lines of his lips turning ever-so-slightly downwards and the furrow between his brow becoming more pronounced. “Asahi said you left class early,” he says softly. 

Suga has known Daichi for just over two years now. They were first years together and had showed up at the gym for their first volleyball practice at nearly the same time. Despite the dismal conditions of the club (coachless, downtrodden, clipped, _flightless_ ), they - and Asahi - stayed on. They began to share everything with one another, and gradually their small group became second-years, then third. And now Daichi - reliable, steady, foundational Daichi - is captain. 

Suga is vice-captain. He often doesn’t feel qualified for the position. 

“You wanna tell me what’s up?” Daichi asks. He’s got that face on, the one that reads ‘concern’. Suga’s seen that face directed at Asahi more than once (especially pre-relationship-with-Noya), but it’s only been in the last few months that it’s been primarily aimed towards Suga. 

Suga shrugs, turning back to the window. The breeze spins through the weave of his long-sleeved white button-down. “Not really,” he replies, knowing full well that such an answer is going to just make Daichi even more worried, but he can’t help it. There’s a pit in his stomach and acknowledging the feelings will just make the pit yawn that much wider. 

Daichi is quiet for a moment. Suga knows dark eyes are boring into the back of his head. They feel like a fingertip sliding its way down his spine, pressing firmly against the bone, nail digging into the skin. “Alright,” Daichi says finally, voice soft. “Everything’s ok at home, right? At least tell me that much?”

Suga nods, feeling the corner of his lips quirk upwards despite himself. “Yeah. Everyone’s fine. I’m just...” He sighs, running a hand up through his hair and to the back of his head and neck, blocking out that penetrating stare. “It’s something I’m dealing with, that’s all.”

When he glances back at Daichi, the other boy looks unconvinced. “Okay,” he replies, but there’s a determination there that Suga wants to recoil from. Daichi steps closer, bumping their shoulders together. “Come on, the bell’s about to ring. Ono-sensei’ll end up assigning us even more work if we’re late.” He looks pained at the thought, and Suga can’t help but chuckle. 

“Yeah. Thanks, Daichi.”

Daichi bumps his shoulder again, grinning, and as they walk to class Suga feels the pit in his stomach growing deeper still. 

x

The rest of the day goes by relatively quickly, Daichi’s presence in their next class a welcome distraction. Practice is better and even more distracting - the first years are rambunctious, if anything - and Daichi doles out glare after glare as Suga comforts and cajoles. On the sidelines, the new Coach Ukai shouts out drills, arms folded across his chest. 

The court feels happier now that Asahi and Noya rejoined, and their presence only adds to the chaos. Tanaka is thrilled that his friends have returned, and he alternates between yelling and taking his shirt off (“Tanaka, _stop stripping_!” “But Daichi I’m _celebrating_!”) after successful serves, sending giggles down the line. 

By the end of practice, Daichi’s glare seems fixed to his face, and Suga holds back a soft laugh of his own as the first- and second-years begin traipsing back to the clubroom after cleaning the gym. Despite the commotion, it was overall a good practice, and Asahi lingers, expression open and bright as he looks down at his fellow third-years. “We’ve got a chance this year, don’t we?” he asks, eyes shining. 

The pinched look in Daichi’s cheeks softens. He relaxes his shoulders and rubs an eye, the smile appearing on his lips showing his absolute wonder at the thought. “Yeah, we do,” he replies. “I really think we do.” 

They share the smile, feeling hope creeping into their chests, and the pit shrinks ever-so-slightly. 

x

He’s walking home, pork bun a welcome warmth in his stomach, when he feels Daichi’s hand land heavily on his shoulder. Walking home together isn’t anything unusual; Daichi only lives a block or two beyond Suga’s house, but Suga half-wishes that he could be walking alone today. “Good effort today,” Daichi says, a smile in his voice. 

“Thanks, Captain,” Suga replies, half-turning so he can punch Daichi good-naturedly in the ribs. Daichi tries to smack his hand away, but Suga is quicker than he is and it lands with enough force to make Daichi let out a soft ‘whuff’ of breath. The boy groans, rubbing against the spot with one hand, but he’s smiling - again, nothing unusual between them. Suga hopes it’s enough normality to make Daichi forget about their conversation earlier. 

His hopes are quickly dashed as Daichi straightens, lengthening his stride to keep pace with Suga’s quick steps. “You want to tell me what happened yet?” he asks, pressing his shoulder against Suga’s. “It wouldn’t happen to be about Chika-san, would it?” 

Suga bites the inside of his lip, determined to keep the emotion of his face. Daichi knew him. He knew him too well, and it scared him. “We broke up,” he says simply. “It just wasn’t working out.”  
Daichi doesn’t say anything at first. He watches his face, eyeing the way Suga’s eyes shine. “I heard some things,” he admits finally. They’re less than a block from Suga’s house now, and Suga resists the urge to break away and run for the door. “From Michimiya-san. She said that Chika-san told you she loved you. And that you said it back.” 

It’s exactly what Suga hoped wouldn’t happen. He frowns, stepping away from Daichi’s supportive shoulder and shoving his hands into his uniform pockets. “Rumors spread too quickly,” he says, trying to sound casual. “It just didn’t work out. That’s all.” 

Daichi again looks unconvinced. He stops walking, reaching out to grab hold of Suga’s sleeve before the silver-haired boy can get away. “You can talk to me, Suga. I’m just worried. You two have been together since the middle of last term. I thought things were okay.” 

Suga tries tugging at his sleeve experimentally; Daichi’s hand doesn’t budge from the fabric. Silently, Suga curses his friend’s strength. “I really don’t want to talk about it right now, Daichi,” he says sullenly. “I have homework to do. Please let me go.” 

“Suga–”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He tugs at his sleeve again, and to his relief Daichi loosens his grip just enough for Suga to pull the fabric from his fingers. “Goodnight.” 

He strides away, head bowed, and makes it to the gate of his house before Daichi can call after him. The words follow him anyways, small and quiet. 

“Goodnight, Suga.” 

x 

The next few months are a blur of volleyball and classes and practice matches and lost tournaments and exams and training camp. Suga locks himself in his room more and more after practice, drawing diagrams for combinations in one notebook and equations for math class in another. He gets Daichi to practice English with him sometimes while walking home; they make stilted conversation and trip over the sounds and laugh, and Suga forgets all about the look on Chika-san’s face back in April. 

_> > I’m sorry, but I… I don’t believe you, Koushi._

Daichi’s arm swings around his shoulders; they pull their heads together and Suga’s giggle rises into the early August air, echoed by Daichi’s own joy. 

The Spring High Preliminaries are just around the corner, and Suga practices the synchronized attack over and over and over. He spikes until his arm feels like it could come off with one good tug. He goes over technique with Nishinoya, watching the other boy leap and improve and fill with endless joy when a toss goes right. After practice, he restrains the chaos outside the shop as Daichi buys them each meat buns, and he turns away with a hidden smile when Nishinoya’s whispered words turn Asahi bright red. 

x

It’s after the win against Seijoh that Suga realizes something is _wrong_. He and Daichi sent the rest of the team to the bus under Shimizu-san and Coach Ukai’s supervision and are making a quick trip to the bathroom before the bus ride. They’re both _tired_. Daichi’s cheek blooms purple with bruise from his collision with Tanaka, and Suga feels a rush of anxious energy rise up in his chest every time he looks at it. 

They turn a corner, shoulders brushing as they walk. Daichi leans against him a bit more than usual; he spent much more time on the court than Suga had, even with his injury pulling him out of the Wakutani South match, and it’s evident in every move he makes. Suga wraps his arm around Daichi’s middle, pulling him closer to take more of the larger boy’s bulk, and is so distracted by the weight of his shared exhaustion that he doesn’t hear the voices until he and Daichi are almost on top of them. 

They’re hushed and muffled, hidden in the darkness of the stairwell, and Suga stops walking when they filter out to him. Daichi stops as well, blinking owlishly at him, but Suga’s not looking at him. He’s staring at the two boys in Seijoh teal, foreheads pressed together, hands fisted in each other’s jackets.

“It’s not your fault,” Iwaizumi Hajime is saying, and he’s kissing away the tears streaming down Oikawa Tooru’s face. Suga feels the pit in his stomach yawn open. “It’s _not your fault_. Even Watari would have had trouble receiving from that angle.” 

“Hajime–” Oikawa barely chokes out the name past his sob. “They _trusted_ me. We were supposed to beat Ushiwaka, we were supposed to go to _Nationals_! I-I… I f-failed them, Hajime, and I failed Makki, and Mattsun, and now none of us will be able to play volleyball together anymore, and–”

“You’ve said a lot of stupid things, Shittykawa, but that’s one of the worst,” Iwaizumi says seriously, but Suga can see the slightest smile twitch at the corner of the boy’s lips. “You got us further than we could have ever gotten without you. And there’s no way we’re done with volleyball. You, me, or Hanamaki or Matsukawa.” 

“They’re going to resent me.” 

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “They won’t, Tooru, I promise” he whispers, and then he’s pressing a deeper kiss to Oikawa’s lips. 

The sound of the kiss seems to float its way to Suga and Daichi, and Suga feels himself stiffen. He releases his grip around Daichi’s waist and instead grabs hold of his captain’s wrist, trying to steer him past the stairway without attracting the notice of the two Seijoh boys. Suga keeps his gaze carefully fixed to the floor ahead of them, and to his left he can _feel_ Daichi’s cheeks burning. 

They almost make it. 

“Karasuno.” 

Suga wants to curse, but he and Daichi turn as one, feeling embarrassment flickering in their chests for the intrusion. 

Oikawa is waiting for them, one eyebrow raised, his eyes red and cheeks flushed. Iwaizumi stands beside him, arms folded across his chest. Neither is smiling; the soft, intimate scene of before is gone, replaced by Oikawa’s usual haughty confidence. 

“You played well,” Oikawa says.

Suga and Daichi _stare_ at him. Daichi is frozen at Suga’s side, all stiff muscles and brittle joints that would shatter if touched. Suga elbows him. “Thank you,” he blurts, and Suga nods beside him. “You almost had us, you know.” 

Oikawa’s eyebrow creeps a bit closer to his hairline. “I know,” he says simply, and then he and Iwaizumi are turning away, walking down the hallway without another word. Suga and Daichi watch them go, feeling as if all the air were suddenly sucked from their chests. The two Seijoh boys walk close, not touching and yet – _yet_ – Suga can almost see a string attaching their wrists together, connecting them in a way that sends his heart beating itself into a nervous spiral. 

_Love_ , he thinks. _So that’s what love looks like_. 

Next to him, Daichi’s gaze is fixed not on Oikawa and Iwaizumi, but on Suga. 

_> > You don’t really love me, do you Koushi? _

_> > …no._

Suga feels it. He doesn’t look. He won’t look. He can’t.

x

Suga has kept every confession letter he’s ever been given. 

There aren’t very many – only five – but sometimes he pulls them out and rereads them while lying back against his pillows, curiosity blooming within his chest. They all have a similar format – saying how the writer has noticed him, maybe praising his smarts or his looks (one even mentions his beauty mark, and he remembers flushing furiously when he first read it), and each ends with a request for a reply. 

He turned down most of them, and he remembers the way the girls had looked when he said ‘I’m sorry’. One of them had teared up; the others had looked only disappointed. It took Daichi’s teasing and prodding for him to finally accept the last one, and that one had ended with lies burning holes in his chest.

After Chika-san, he hasn’t received any confessions, and it suits him fine. He hasn’t been cornered or cajoled, and it’s freeing, in a way. He can focus on his studies and on volleyball, running combos through his mind before he goes to sleep. He can imagine the way muscled biceps feel under his hands, calloused hands, chapped lips. He can immediately shut those thoughts out.

He rolls off his bed and slips into his desk chair, pulling his notebook out of his bag to get some studying in before dinner. 

There’s a letter tucked between the pages.

The envelope is marked only ‘Suga’, written in rough, blocky handwriting. He recognizes it instantly. 

He throws away the letter without reading it. 

_> > You’re a fucking_ sociopath, _Koushi._

x

Daichi never brings up the letter. Neither does Suga. They trod around each other tentatively in class and during practice, following their usual routine only in a desperate reliance on familiarity. Asahi picks up on it, as does Ennoshita, but the rest of the team seem to be comfortably oblivious. Suga thanks their one-minded obsession with volleyball. 

It’s Ennoshita who finally brings it up, sidling up to Suga after practice one day. “There’s tension between you,” Ennoshita says quietly, following Suga’s gaze. Daichi is across the court, looming over Kageyama and Hinata as they pick themselves up from the freshly-mopped floor, looking sheepish. “Things have been off since after Shiratorizawa. It’s been almost a month.” 

Suga shrugs, pulling his eyes away. “It’s nothing,” he says, airily waving away the suggestion, a false smile pulling at his lips. “Classes have been a bit stressful lately.” 

Ennoshita looks unconvinced. “Suga-san,” he says, and his voice is a bit firmer. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but whatever is going on, I think you should talk to him.” His gaze flickers towards Daichi again, then back to Suga, and his face is set. “At least think about it.”

Suga swallows, but nods. “Yeah. Thanks,” he manages. 

Ennoshita pats him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly, and he smiles at him before returning to the clean-up efforts. 

_If only that were true_ , Suga thinks grimly, eyes flickering to Daichi. The captain is stomping over to the bench where Shimizu waits for him, a clipboard in her arms. There’s quite a bit of paperwork to complete before heading to Nationals, and Suga is glad they still have Shimizu to help them get through it. 

He spends the rest of the time helping Narita and Tanaka get the net taken down and put away. The team is chatty inside the clubroom when he goes to get changed – Nationals is only two weeks away, and the closer it gets, the more the anticipation seems to build. Daichi joins them inside the clubroom a few minutes later, as Suga is pulling his shirt on. The collar slips past his face to settle against his collarbone, and Daichi is looking at him. 

He feels a flush begin to build in his cheeks and hastily pulls on his coat. It’s December now, and the night air is cold as he steps outside, pulling a hat down over his ears. The rest of the team come spilling out after him one or two at a time; Hinata and Kageyama almost immediately start a race to where Hinata’s bike is chained, and Noya has somehow convinced Tanaka to carry him out of the building on his shoulders – only for him to hit his forehead on the doorframe and fall backwards into Asahi’s arms. There’s a lot of squawking involved. Crows, indeed. 

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi push their way past the chaos of the doorway and head out; Suga gives them a smile and a nod as they leave. Yamaguchi returns the smile with a chirped “Goodnight, Suga-san!” and Tsukishima only nods wordlessly; they disappear into the night in the opposite direction of Kageyama and Hinata, who, Suga presumes, have already reached Hinata’s bike and started another race through the streets. 

Once Noya, Tanaka, and Asahi have cleared the doorway (calling a cheery ‘goodnight’ to Suga as they depart), Narita and Kinoshita appear, dragging Ennoshita behind them. Ennoshita looks faintly nauseated, and Narita and Kinoshita look particularly energized about something, laughing about watching ‘that evil tire movie’. Suga decides it’s best not to ask, and when Ennoshita looks at him pleadingly, Suga only shakes his head, laughing softly at his plight. “Have fun,” he calls after them, and laughs a bit louder as Ennoshita’s groan and his friends’ laughter drifts back to him. 

“Suga?”

The laughter dies on his lips. 

“You waited for me?” 

Daichi sounds _hopeful_ , and Suga feels fear bubbling up inside him. “Yeah,” he replies, and he knows Daichi sees right through his smile but he pastes it on anyways. “I figured we could walk home together.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Suga waits, his hands shoved in his pockets, as Daichi locks up the gym and the clubroom. He doesn’t say anything; he’s not really sure _what_ to say, only that the guilt building within his chest is growing by the second. Finally, Daichi is tucking the key away in a zippered pocket of his bag and turning back to him, dark eyes shining beneath the fluorescent lights. “Let’s go,” he says, and they turn to start walking towards their neighborhoods, words lying unspoken on their tongues. 

It's Daichi who speaks first, and for a split second Suga is glad, because it means that he doesn’t have to be the one to break the silence. He regrets it moments later. 

“I… I gave you a letter,” Daichi says, and there is fear in his eyes, flickering amid the brown of his irises. 

Suga has to restrain a wince, instead plastering on his fakest smile. He knows full well Daichi sees right through him. “You did? I must not have gotten it.” Stupid. Why is he being so stupid? Daichi knows. Waiting was a mistake. Walking home together was a mistake. Why did he listen to Ennoshita– 

“Oh.” 

The single soft syllable sends a rush of guilt ravaging through Suga’s chest. He knows this is going to haunt him. It doesn’t matter. He changes the subject before Daichi can elaborate, or ask any potential probing questions, because he knows that with Daichi – only with Daichi, it’s always only been with Daichi – he’ll break. “What happened with Hinata and Kageyama?” 

Daichi doesn’t answer at first. He’s not even looking at Suga; there’s a faint flush high in his cheeks that makes Suga want to scream. “Uh. They were using the mops as jousting sticks,” he says after a moment, eyes firmly on the road ahead of them. “One of them was going to end up impaled.” 

Suga forces a chuckle; he _thinks_ it comes out sounding somewhat normal. He hopes. “You’re a good captain,” he says lightly.

They walk in silence until they part. 

x

It’s two days before they leave for Tokyo, and Daichi is on his doorstep. 

“Suga, I need to talk to you,” he’s saying, and Suga can barely hear him over the sound of his heart beating a frenzy inside his chest. “Please.” 

“Y-yeah. Okay.” 

They bypass the living room and the kitchen, with only quick greetings called to Suga’s father at the stove, and end up in Suga’s room with the door locked behind them. Suga sits on the bed, wishing he could be swallowed by the mattress beneath him. 

Daichi remains standing.

“I need to talk to you,” he says again. Suga only nods. Daichi’s face looks pained, stricken, and Suga wants nothing more than to harness some of Hinata’s impossible athleticism and dart out of the room before Daichi could grab hold, but it’s too late. They’re here. Daichi is standing in front of him, hands fisting at the hem of the jacket he hasn’t bothered to take off, eyes boring holes into Suga’s carefully constructed mask of gentle perplexation. 

“I… remember I said I gave you a letter?” he asks, and Suga’s heart starts beating faster, louder. He can only nod, and Daichi continues. “It…” He takes a deep breath, holding it for a second before releasing it in a long, broken sigh, and then the words are sputtering out of him. “It was a c-confession, Suga,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I was trying to confess to you, but I got nervous and slipped it into your notebook instead. I should have done it in person. Like how I am now. I… I like you, Suga.” 

If it weren’t for the hopeful desperation lining Daichi’s every movement, Suga might try to make a joke out of this. Something stupid and flighty, like _I didn’t realize I was so frightening, Dai-chan_ or _you really wanted me on a bed this badly, Daichi~?_

He hates himself for what he says instead. 

“I’m sorry, Daichi. Please leave.” 

Daichi stares at him, tension spilling out of his body only to be replaced by a sort of mortified horror that Suga’s only ever seen in Asahi. “O-oh,” he sputters. He stares at Suga, jaw slack, eyes wide, and Suga drops his gaze to the floor. 

“I… I can’t return your feelings, Daichi,” he says quietly. It’s already more information than he wanted to say, but the words spill out anyways. “Not the way you want me to. I can’t.”

Daichi is backing up, one slow step after another, until his back is almost against the door. “I shouldn’t have come,” he says, “I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry, this was a mistake–” 

His hand is closing on the doorknob when Suga stands up. He strides across the room, coming to a stop in front of the taller boy, hazel eyes pleadingly, tearfully rising up to meet steady, calming, desperate brown.

_This is a terrible decision._

Suga kisses him.

Daichi makes a strangled noise in his throat but kisses back, hand slipping off the doorknob to rest tentatively on the soft jut of Suga’s hipbone. His lips are chapped; Suga’s are scarred from biting at them so often. It’s not a passionate kiss as seen in the movies – it’s just a soft peck, lips entwining for a moment of wordless apology and anxious want – and yet Suga can feel his heart beating that much faster. Beneath his hand, pressed gingerly to Daichi’s chest, he can feel an echoing heartbeat fluttering away in restless rhythm. 

He pulls away, swallowing hard, and finds Daichi staring at him. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Suga says. 

Daichi shakes his head, hand still resting oh-so-gently on Suga’s hip. “I don’t understand,” he croaks, voice barely above a whisper. “Why?” 

Why did Suga reject him. Why did Suga _kiss_ him. Both very good questions. Suga doesn’t know how to answer either one. 

“I… I don’t know,” he says instead, taking a step backwards. Daichi’s hand is pulled from Suga’s hip and falls to his side, dangling limply. “I don’t know.” 

“Koushi.” 

Suga winces at the use of his given name and turns back to his bed, falling onto it and burying his face in a pillow. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles, voice muffled. 

“We leave for Nationals in two days.” 

“I know,” Suga says sourly. _Why_ does Daichi have to be such a captain about things?

“I… really don’t want us to be fighting or… whatever _this_ is.” There’s the sound of footsteps, and then Daichi is sinking down onto the bed next to Suga, his weight both a comforting and distressing presence at Suga’s side. 

Suga doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when he does, his face remains buried in the pillow. “You remember what happened with Chika-san?” he asks, hesitant and quiet. Daichi has to lean in to hear him. “How the rumors said something about ‘I love you’?”

Daichi’s hand is very close to Suga’s side. It twitches, as if wanting nothing more than to rest against Suga’s back, to rub gentle circles into his shoulders. “Yeah,” he says. Suga can _hear_ the furrow of Daichi’s brow in his voice, and senses questions already waiting in the wings, but pushes on before Daichi can ask. 

“I told her I loved her back, but it was a lie.” 

Daichi doesn’t say anything. Suga isn’t sure if that’s better or worse. 

“She could tell I was lying. I don’t know how.”

Still, nothing. But then – 

A tentative touch to his shoulder, a gentle rub. Daichi’s listening. He’s saving the questions for later. 

“She… ah.” Suga buries his face a little deeper into the pillow, and it’s hard to breathe that way but he doesn’t care, because his next words are muffled to the point where even he can barely hear them. “She called me a sociopath because I couldn’t love her.” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath above him, and Suga curls in on himself, turning his back to Daichi so he’s facing the wall, pillow brought with him to hide his face. The hand on his back stills, then curls until it’s gripping his shirt.

“Suga, I–”

“Daichi.” Suga interrupts before the other boy can say anything, pulling the pillow slightly away from his face to inhale. “I don’t think I’m a sociopath.” 

“Oh. Um. Good. But–”

“I’m aromantic, Daichi.” The words spill past his lips before he can stop them, and then he’s clapping a hand over his mouth and burying his face back in his pillow. “I can’t love.” 

There’s a long, long moment of quiet. 

Daichi is the one who breaks the silence. “I… don’t think that’s true,” he says softly, and before Suga can protest he’s barreling onwards, words spilling from his lips. “I think you can love just fine. Just… in your own way. Maybe not in the way that means marriage or anything, but like… you love the team, and you love your family, and you love that stupid plush sushi roll you got at the festival last year, right? That’s still love, isn’t it? Just because you don’t love romantically doesn’t mean you _can’t_ love.” 

“What the fuck, Daichi.” Daichi draws back, tense, but Suga rolls over and grabs his wrist, looking up at him blankly. “You know what aromantic means.” 

Daichi swallows, but nods. “Yeah, I have a friend who told me she’s ace, so I was looking up some stuff, and there was talk about aromanticism, and I got to reading–”

Suga is staring at him. “You’re… not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” 

“I… I don’t like you like that. But I still kissed you.” 

Daichi’s lips thin slightly, but he nods. “I’m… a little mad,” he admits, glancing down to where Suga is still holding his wrist. “I’m a little mad you didn’t tell me. I just… I would have tried to be less obvious, I guess.” He manages a weak smile. “Probably wouldn’t have confessed, either.” 

Suga shakes his head, silver dancing against his forehead. “I mean… I appreciate the confession, it’s flattering,” he says, swallowing, “but… yeah, I don’t… I can’t… like you like that, I think.” Daichi’s gaze moves up, and Suga meets it with a watery smile. “I do love you though. In a friend way.” There’s a pause, and Suga’s smile shifts slightly, turning playful. “Maybe in a physical way too, because I did like that kiss.” 

Daichi swallows, nodding. Suga’s smile slips away, until they’re both looking at each other, words feeling useless on their tongues. 

“I love you in a friend way too, Suga,” Daichi says finally, softly. He pulls his wrist out of Suga’s grasp and instead entangles their fingers until their palms touch. “Thanks for telling me.” 

Suga nods, squeezing Daichi’s hand in return. 

x

They make it to Nationals and are knocked out by Kamomedai in the quarter-finals. Daichi begins dating Michimiya Yui, and Suga cheers him on from the sidelines, suggesting presents and cheesy pick-up lines that make Daichi blush. They don’t kiss again, but their hugs are longer now, and their gazes more earnest, and if Suga texts ‘I love you’ a little more now – well, it’s with a rush of truth and warmth and platonic affection. _Joy_.

**Author's Note:**

> so this became a lot longer and a lot more personal than i was expecting. the ending is a bit rushed bc i wasn't really sure what to do with it. also, the stuff said by chika-san is stuff i've actually been told by a past partner; i swear i’m not trying to diss anyone with apd. so yeah, based on irl experience i guess? suga may have become a bit of a self-insert, oops. anyways. first fic on ao3, why not start it with some proper angsty goodness. hope you enjoyed!


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